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  HITCHED

  BOOK SEVEN

  LEA HART

  Copyright © 2017 by Lea Hart

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Lea Hart

  Visit my website at www.leahartauthor.com

  DEDICATION

  For My Daughters, My Heartbeat

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I would like to thank Julie Cup at Formatting Fairies for all of her special Magic.

  I would also like to thank Janell Parque and Linda Ingmanson for their editorial wisdom.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Tuesday, September 5th

  Frisco looked out the window of the helo as he and his team crossed the Ethiopian desert, and thought about the assignment they were about to take on. It was going to be their last before they headed home, and by all accounts, it was going to be a cakewalk.

  The US-led Flintlock counterterrorism exercises were about to begin, and they were going to fill in for a squad from Team Two. The men who were originally assigned had been needed elsewhere, and Frisco knew that meant a hot spot had flared up in the region and there were bigger fish to fry.

  When the call had been put out for volunteers, he’d decided it was the perfect way to end a five-month-long deployment at Camp Salerno in the Khost District of Afghanistan. He’d put his name in right away because he hated sitting around and that was all he and his platoon had been doing for the last week while they waited for orders to return to Coronado.

  The Flintlock gig was a great excuse to get out of Afghanistan and do something useful during his last week down range, and he was appreciative to have a chance to see a part of the world he’d never spent much time in.

  Jax and Bryce had decided to join him and they’d all jumped on a transport to Camp Lemonnier in Djibouti two days ago and were now headed to one near N’Djamena in Chad. AFRICOM had a forward operating site right outside the capital, and it was the hub for both flight and training activities in the region.

  And, yeah, he’d looked it up on Google maps to see exactly where he was headed. No shame in his game that he wasn’t up to speed on the capitals in the Trans Saharan region. He’d never been on a team that operated in this part of the world, and he’d only changed planes at AFRICOM’s Djibouti base a time or two.

  After he figured out where he was going, he’d gotten in touch with a friend from BUD/S who was on Team Two and got the download. Apparently, Boko Haram was still active in the region despite Nigeria’s reports that they’d been defeated and were as repugnant as everyone thought. According to his buddy, the nasty sons of bitches were some of the worst he’d ever seen because they were committing unspeakably violent acts against innocent women and children. Often, the people who were terrorized had done nothing more than originate from the wrong tribe.

  Which didn’t make them any different from the government they were fighting against.

  Except they did the unforgivable and tried to legitimize their violence by calling it a jihadist crusade. No way was he ever going to be convinced the actions they’d taken were in the name of Allah or any other deity they scrambled to slap onto their campaign of terror.

  But that was his opinion and a debate for another day.

  What he did know was that the Flintlock event was designed to foster regional cooperation, and the annual exercises brought together over two thousand soldiers from twenty African countries, Europe, and North America. It was AFRICOM’s way of helping the region strengthen their ability to protect their borders and provide security for their people, as well as bolster the partnership between African, European, and North American Special Operation Forces. The intent behind the event was to ensure all the different countries could work together effectively whenever a future crisis occurred.

  It made a lot of sense to him, and he wished it had happened in the Middle East way back when it could’ve made a difference. Who knows what the proactive approach could’ve accomplished when the ayatollahs started gaining influence and the rise of Islamic extremism became evident? If the world had taken it seriously and worked together, the last thirty years might’ve played out very differently.

  Shaking his head, he ran his hand down his face and wondered why in the hell he was playing the what-if game. Perhaps it was the long deployment, or because they’d recently come off an operation empty-handed, and nothing pissed him off more. He and his platoon had spent a month trying to capture Hamza bin Laden, who was Osama’s son and apparent heir. The kid was like a fucking ghost, because every time they’d gotten close, he slipped out of their grasp and disappeared.

  The twenty-eight-year-old had followed in his father’s footsteps and had just successfully staked his claim as the leader of al-Qaeda. Which might’ve not taken much effort on his part because the group had been trying desperately to reestablish its supremacy in the world of terrorists, and choosing Hamza might very well allow them to do it.

  In the last several years, al Qaeda had fallen to the number two position after ISIS and, by all accounts, no one was more pissed off than Osama’s kids. The fact that Hamza had been recently placed on a State Department terror watch list and named a “specially designated global terrorist”—the same classification Osama had—must make them damn near jubilant because it meant the West was taking him seriously.

  As Frisco rubbed his hand across his neck, he tried to let the disappointment of failing to capture the asshole slip away. They’d gotten close several times and he had to keep reminding himself that eventually Hamza would be apprehended, it just wouldn’t be by him and his team.

  Which really sucked.

  Big hairy balls, if he was being specific.

  The coms in his ear beeped, and he heard the pilot inform them they were about to hit some turbulence due to a storm up ahead. He hadn’t expected to encounter weather because they were at the end of the rainy season, but Mother Nature seemed to have different ideas.

  Looking down at his tablet, he read the brief he’d been given on what they were about to get involved with and decided this was the easiest assignment he’d had all year. The goal of the event was to allow soldiers in the region to increase their ability to act together in response to security crises stemming from jihadist movements, so he and his guys were going to run ambush training exercises as well as parachute free-fall training.

  Which, as far as he could tell, could do nothing but help the local forces as they continued to combat Boko Haram. And, according to his buddy, they still had a hell of a fight on their hands, as skirmishes continued to occur in the northern area of Lake Chad. By all accounts, the lake region had become a sanctuary for the group when they were driven from Maiduguri and they were wreaking violence whenever and wherever they could.

  The brief he’d read earlier stated that Lake Chad wasn’t really a lake any longer but more a series of small islands that was home to many small tribes. The people who inhabited the area were nomadic Muslims and not equipped to defend themselves, which meant that Boko Haram had found a perfect place to hide out.

  The Chadian army had been engaging them for months and, for every win, there was a loss, with neither side making much progress. If they could provide the right training, they might be able to tip the scales so the local forces could change the tide and defeat the group once and for all.

  Checking his wa
tch, he calculated they had another four hours before landing in N’Djamena, and as he looked out the small window of the Black Hawk, the helo started to buck and shudder. They must be about to fly into the storm, so he braced his feet widely and held on to his tablet as he watched both Bryce and Jax wake instantly. “Just a little storm,” he said into his mic.

  Jax rolled his shoulders and gave him a thumbs-up. “Makes things interesting,” he commented as the interior of the bird grew dim.

  “Speaking of interesting…” Frisco said with a laugh, “I want to hear about your brother’s fight, Bryce.”

  The young lieutenant sat up and stretched out his legs. “Which one?”

  Frisco slid his tablet into his bag and sat back. “The one where he won his title for a fourth time. I heard it took him longer than two rounds.”

  Jax leaned forward and punched the young lieutenant in the arm. “As the newest member of the team, it’s your duty to come up with something good and give us the gory details.”

  “Unfortunately, I missed it because I was spending quality time with y’all trying to reduce the terrorist population. My sister, Bree, sent me a zip drive with the fight and I’ve only watched it once. I will tell you, his opponent had a serious ground game, and it took Bruce three full rounds to defeat him.”

  “Hey, is your sister still dating the middleweight champion?” Jax asked as he pulled a bottle of water out of his bag.

  “Yeah, I met him in Vegas several months ago, and he’s a good guy. They’re engaged and planning to get married next year at the family home.”

  Frisco stretched his arms over his head and let out a huff. “And here I thought she was waiting for me.”

  Bryce gave his commander a sharp look before he replied. “No offense, sir, but my sister is too damn good for you. She’s not a hit-it-and-quit-it girl and, as far as I can tell, that’s all you’re interested in.”

  Jax exploded in laughter and patted Bryce on the back. “Truer words have never been said.”

  Frisco flipped them off and frowned. “You assholes have failed to notice that I’m taking a more mature approach to my social life and the women I choose to spend time with.”

  “That’s because the last one was batshit crazy and stalked you from one end of San Diego to the other,” Jax replied.

  “Whatever.” Frisco leaned his head against the webbing that lined the bird and wondered how a discussion about UFC fighters had turned into a commentary on his dating life. So what if he enjoyed naked fun? He’d always been completely upfront with the women he got involved with and made sure they understood what he was interested in. With the exception of the last one, every single one of them had never wanted more.

  Truth was the whole run-in with crazy-mazy had put him off female company, and he didn’t know when that was going to change. His close friend Birdie had informed him it probably wouldn’t until he met the one. Which, as far as he could tell, wasn’t happening anytime soon—if ever. The idea of there being one woman out there who could satisfy him for the rest of his life was as ludicrous as thinking the tooth fairy existed.

  Closing his eyes, he decided it wasn’t anything he had to worry about anyway, because the chances of meeting someone at work were zero to less than zero. When he got back to San Diego, he could reevaluate and decide if changing his ways was worth it.

  The helo settled, and he decided to catch a quick combat nap so that he could end the discussion about his personal life, as well get himself rested so when they landed in Chad, he’d be ready for whatever came their way.

  ***

  Frisco and his team walked into the Hilton in N’Djamena and, once he looked around, he decided being last-minute fill-ins had totally paid off. The base was completely full, so they were billeted at the American hotel, and he couldn’t be happier. A clean bed and hot water in a room by himself were as close to heaven as he ever expected to get.

  Looking across the lobby, he saw two men enter the hotel and thought he was seeing things. As they got closer, he let out a bark of laughter and wondered what the hell a couple of retired frogmen were doing in Chad.

  “Son of a bitch,” Frisco said loudly as Carrick and Brendan approached. “I can’t go anywhere without running into riffraff.”

  Carrick shook his head and let out a snort as he shook Frisco’s hand. “Heard you were dead.”

  “Rumors,” Frisco replied as he grinned.

  Brendan rocked back on his heels. “You look too damn rested.”

  Frisco flipped him off, and then they exchanged bro hugs. The three of them had been in the same BUD/S class and had graduated together, and nothing made a bond stronger between men than surviving Hell Week. “You both look like shit, so I’m guessing you two decided to become mercs.”

  “We like to refer to ourselves as Private Military Contractors,” Carrick replied with a grin.

  “PMC or merc—all the same thing,” Frisco said as he turned to his team. “Let me introduce you to Jax, who’s one of the best snipers on the Teams, and Bryce, who’s the newest member of our platoon and a savant when it comes to technology.”

  Carrick saluted the men, as did Brendan. “Always nice to run into brothers when you’re on the other side of the world.”

  “What the hell are you guys doing here?” Frisco asked as he raised an eyebrow.

  Carrick adjusted his duffel and shoved his hands into his pockets. “We just pulled a low-level Nigerian health official out of the hands of Boko Haram. The government hired us to make sure the snatch and grab was successful and quiet. Their recent claims that they’ve defeated the militants won’t hold water if word gets out that officials are being taken off the street in broad daylight.”

  Jax snorted and asked, “Who the hell are you working for?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it,” Carrick replied. “But first, I need to get cleaned up and file my after action report. Let’s grab some dinner later and catch up.”

  Frisco slapped him on the back and nodded. “Sounds good. See you guys back here in a couple of hours.” Brendan saluted and then ambled off with Carrick.

  Frisco and his men walked up to the reception desk, and, as they waited to be checked in, he realized how curious he was to hear how life after the Teams was for some of the best men he’d ever worked with. Most guys he knew had either gone on to be instructors or work for Max over at SAI. He didn’t know anyone who had gone into the private military gig, and he was looking forward to hearing what they had to say. At thirty-three, he was a lot closer to retiring than he ever liked to admit, and it was probably about time he started considering what his options were for a second career. Because the day he had to make a decision wasn’t as far away as he liked to think.

  ***

  “Fill us in on retired life,” Frisco said as the group sat at a table in the outdoor restaurant near the pool.

  “We work with someone you guys know,” Carrick said with a smirk. “Bet you fifty bucks you can’t guess who it is.”

  “Suckers bet,” Jax replied.

  “Fine,” Carrick said as he straightened his cutlery. “We’re working with Rear Admiral Foster.” Holding up his hand, he laughed. “What I should say is, retired rear admiral.”

  “Holy shit,” Frisco replied. “I had no idea he went into the private military business when he left the Navy.”

  “When Blackwater fell apart after all the scandals, a large corporation bought it and changed everything. One of the first things they did was find the cleanest, smartest commander they could and install him in the San Diego facility,” Brendan said.

  Frisco asked incredulously, “You work for fucking Blackwater?”

  “No. We work for Titan, which is a top-notch private military company,” Brendan replied.

  “Okaaay,” Jax said. “You’re still a merc.”

  Carrick let out a frustrated sigh and crossed his arms. “I’m the same man I was when I was employed by Uncle Sam, and I operate by the same set of rules and ethics. So, if workin
g for a private company makes me a mercenary, then I can live with it.”

  “So, what are you doing in Chad?” Bryce asked.

  “We’re guests of the government and heading down to Zakouma National Park so we can train the anti-poaching brigade they’ve got,” Carrick answered. “But first, we’re going up to Lake Chad to pick up Foster’s daughter, Brooke, and her best friend. They’re with MSF and have been working with the UN Refugee Agency and traveling with a mobile medical clinic.”

  Brendan drained his water and then added, “The North is still a volatile region and the rear admiral wanted to make sure they got back to the capital safely. We have the proper permits to travel through the country, so we’re the best option to get Brooke and her friend out of Baga Sola.”

  “Makes sense that the rear admiral’s daughter has the ‘make a difference’ gene,” Frisco commented. “When he was running the show in Coronado, I was impressed with his leadership skills, and, truth is, he had a lot to do with shaping the commander I’ve become.”

  “Which is why it was an easy decision to go to work with him after we left the Navy,” Brendan replied.

  Frisco noticed Carrick’s tablet light up with a picture of two beautiful smiling women. Leaning over, he shoved his elbow into his buddy’s side. “Shit, man, do the ladies ever leave you alone?”

  Carrick looked down and laughed. “That’s Brooke and Piper.” He typed in a password and then read the message and snorted. “They’re begging us to bring them Diet Coke when we pick them up.”

  Jax leaned over and looked at the tablet and let out a low whistle. “Those two are fucking knockouts.”

  “They’re also amazing human beings,” Carrick replied. “They’re at the end of their six-month contract and, instead of heading home right away, they’ve decided to tag along with us so they can visit the villages surrounding the national park and help out with a hepatitis E outbreak that’s going on down there.”